


our hearts broken from the start

by catteo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some vague time between the events of TAHITI, Yes Men and End of the Beginning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ward's trying really hard to maintain his cover story but Skye isn’t making it easy for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, the one where Skye uses handcuffs to demonstrate how she’s definitely not a damsel in distress and Ward realizes that he’s completely screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our hearts broken from the start

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an exploration of how Ward might be struggling to deal with his feelings for Skye in the knowledge that he's working undercover for Hydra. It ended as porn. Is anyone really surprised?
> 
> Thanks, as ever, to redbrunja who always makes me fix the ending and for pointing out that sometimes you just need to use the word 'cock'. Also? Condom advice. She's the only reason Skye's not getting tested. You should all write her porn to say thanks.

Ward hasn’t yet managed to find a way to be remotely prepared for the intense wave of relief that hits him square in the gut now every time he sees Skye. This time she’s sitting in the living space, free of monitoring, grinning at his appearance in the doorway. She generally looks as though she’s about to make a thorough nuisance of herself and it’s so achingly familiar that he can’t help the way his thoughts spiral away from him. For a moment, he thinks he might drop to his knees at her feet then and there and tell her everything. Only the fact that he’s been training for this his whole life keeps him upright, just the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

 

She nearly died and he let it happen. That’s the brutal truth. He should have been there to protect her and he wasn’t. He’s disappointed in himself. For a mission that was supposed to be nothing more than intel-gathering, things have veered dangerously out of his control. 

 

There’s been a niggling anxiety in the back of Ward’s mind ever since Skye woke up, an undercurrent of worry that all of this could still go horribly wrong. Garrett seems to have the answers he’s been looking for, and Ward doesn’t really know why he’s been left here on the Bus. If he’s honest, he’s getting further and further away from even caring. He remembers that way that deep undercover does this to you. The life that you’re living starts to become more real to you than your real life. It’s dangerous. He needs to take a step back. But then Skye smiles at him, vibrant and happy and _alive_ and he’d do or say anything to have her do it again. Ward knows that he’s in serious trouble. 

 

It’s been coming for months now. He’s been trying to distract himself. Trying to use May as a means of not having to deal with whatever’s happening with Skye. He hates himself for it, but there was a dark moment, as the doctors said that they couldn’t do anything more, when he was grateful that it would finally be over. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to think about the way his day brightens when she harasses him over breakfast, or the way her mouth twitches with a barely contained smile as she refuses to throw another punch until he tells her about the latest book he’s reading. Ward would have dealt with it. He’s an expert at compartmentalizing. He’d have put Skye away in a box that he’d never need to open and he just wouldn’t have thought about her again. It would have been over. He’d move on, be back to normal. 

 

He tries not to dwell on the fact that it’s getting harder to lie to himself.

 

Now, though, it seems that the universe has evidently caught on to the lie that is Grant Ward. And karma, it would appear, really is a bitch. By some miracle the team actually found the serum that brought Coulson back from the dead, Skye’s still alive as a result, and everything’s a thousand times more complicated than it was before. Because now the thought of sleeping with May as a distraction turns his stomach, sparking a complex chain of emotions that he doesn’t even want to examine. Part of him wanted Skye dead because it would be _easy_ , and yet here she is, smiling at him as though he’s her own personal savior. He’s never felt like more of a fraud. 

 

“Hey stranger. So, today’s the day.” Skye virtually bounces in her chair as she sees him. The speed of her recovery has been nothing less than miraculous. He knows he should tell Garrett that Skye’s recovering faster than she should; that there’s something here that might make a difference to Garrett’s research. But he simply doesn’t want to. He tells himself that he’s simply being thorough, the perfect spy. He just needs a little more time to figure everything out. What’s the point in giving Garrett information that he can’t even use? 

 

“The day for what?” He tries to prevent a smile from creeping onto his face at Skye’s clear enthusiasm. He fails miserably.

 

“Training. You said that when Simmons gave the all clear we were good to go. You’re going to teach me your ways Obi-Wan. Show me how to use the force. With force.” Skye smirks and gets to her feet, stepping closer, and Ward knows that he’s on dangerous ground here. He wants nothing more than to tell her exactly who he is. _What_ he is. He has some absurd daydream where he spills all his secrets and tells Skye that he’s not who she thinks he is, and she doesn’t even care. She smiles, tells him that it doesn’t matter to her, and that she believes everyone deserves a second chance. But he’s not a child and he knows better than to believe in fairy tales. She’s better off without him. 

 

He takes a step back.

 

“What I _said_ was that we’d take it slow. You’re not ready. Three days ago Simmons was still running a dozen tests a day on you. We train when you’re better.” Ward realizes his mistake almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. He recognizes the dangerous glint in Skye’s eyes and the stubborn set of her mouth. He should just have taken her through some light exercises and called it a day. Now she’s going to piss him off just to prove a point.

 

“I could have gone with everyone else to the city, Ward. I could have chosen to do _literally_ anything with the ten hours of down time that we never get, except in celebration of my recovery from a near-fatal shooting. But I’m _bored_ of board games, and if I have to listen to you whine about losing at Battleship one more time I’m going to punch you anyway. So you might as well suck it up, accept the fact that I’m better, and do what I want.” Skye lifts her shirt, revealing a thin white line running down the lower part of her abdomen, two tiny starbursts on her right side the only evidence of the bullets that nearly took her from him. 

 

Ward has no idea what point she’s trying to prove, because all he can focus on is the vast expanse of delicate olive skin that’s suddenly on display, and his higher brain functions are basically shutting down. Skye takes a step towards him, shirt still pulled up in one hand, the other reaching for him. Ward’s mouth is dry, pulse pounding in his ears. He desperately reminds himself that Skye’s just a colleague, his rookie, another mark that he needs to con. None of it helps when she grabs his hand and places it on her belly. It’s a scenario he’s imagined one too many times; his right hand twisting roughly around his cock, tight enough that it’s just the right side of painful, hips jerking as he spills, hot and eager, across his own stomach. He exhales slowly, willing his heartbeat to slow, and shakes his head slightly to clear it of the vivid image of Skye bucking her hips underneath him.

 

“Skye, what are you doing?” His voice is strong, just a hint of exasperation. It’s a welcome reminder that there’s a reason Garrett picked him for this mission. He can do this. Skye is not going to be a problem.

 

“Showing you that it doesn’t hurt. I’m healed. Better than new.” She pulls his hand across the slight ridge of scar tissue, settles his palm over the bullet wounds, and grins up at him. He can feel the rise and fall of her gentle breathing under his hand, and his fingers are touching bare skin, soft and warm. It’s involuntary, the way that his fingers gently push against her curves, something that the _real_ Ward would do, instinct making him leave marks of possession. He’s falling in increments, one tiny mistake at a time. 

 

“See? Didn’t even lose my brand new muscle tone. If that’s what you’re checking for.” She raises an eyebrow at him and Ward pulls his hand away, fast and sudden, as though her skin is on fire. He can feel a faint blush starting to stain his cheeks and wonders how it is that Skye always seems to manage to do this to him. 

 

It’s absurd. He’s a professional. A damned Level Seven Agent who’s managed a successful deep cover mission for the last nine months. Yet she makes him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. The slow smile that spreads across Skye’s face in these moments somehow seems to fill the ever-present hollow ache in his chest. She doesn’t know that feelings are a weakness. She doesn’t need to. He’ll be gone before it ever becomes an issue. He is, however, conscious of the fact that she’s a variable that could seriously complicate his ability to complete his mission. He needs to shut this down before it gets completely out of hand. For both of their sakes.

 

“Okay, fine.” Ward’s exasperated sigh is masked by Skye’s squeal of delight. He rolls his eyes to complete his part in this little play of theirs, before heading down to set up the gym. Skye says something about putting on her workout gear before vanishing into her pod. Ward spends his entire trip to the cargo bay reminding himself that Skye’s absolutely off limits. That she’d hate him if she knew the truth. But there’s tiny voice in his mind asking the questions he doesn’t want to think about, forcing him to confront things that he thought he’d managed to bury. 

 

_What if?_

 

He hears her coming long before she appears and he makes a mental note to himself that they need to talk about some stealth training. He adds it to a list that includes ‘holding up under torture’, ‘pulling a trigger without saying “bang”’, and ‘not trusting everyone you meet, even your colleagues’. He amends that last to ‘especially not your colleagues’. He thanks John Garrett for that one -- some days this job is considerably harder than others -- then he turns around, and his mind goes completely blank at the sight in front of him. 

 

Skye’s usually pretty conservative about her workout gear -- ripped T-shirts, sweatpants, mismatched socks -- but this is apparently another thing that doesn’t fit in with Skye’s new mission to become a Specialist in the next five minutes. Because what she’s wearing is the complete opposite of conservative. Ward wonders if she’s actually just trying to give him a heart attack. She has to know the effect that her outfit is going to have on him. Any version of him.

 

“I got some new gear. Trip dropped it off for me.” Skye jumps down the last three steps, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. Ward’s so busy trying not to notice anything about her that he almost misses it. He doesn’t though, and a slow curl of pride at how well she’s learned unfurls in his chest.

 

“I wasn’t aware that you and Trip were shopping buddies.” Ward’s proud that his voice remains completely even. He’s not jealous. There’s no reason that this needs to be weird. This is a mission. He doesn’t care.

 

“Well, I reckon he just wanted an excuse to see Simmons. But I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. What do you think?” Skye executes an exaggerated twirl. Everything is black. Skin-tight. Straps plunging down across an expanse of cleavage that’s almost begging to be touched. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. What Ward thinks is that Skye’s playing a dangerous game. What he thinks is that she needs to stop whatever it is she’s planning or he’s going to do something they’re both going to live to regret.

 

“Is the fabric breathable?” Because that’s what’s important here. Thinking about Skye sweating, and the way he’d run his tongue across her skin, the taste of salt and skin and _Skye_. This is rapidly going from bad to worse.

 

“I have no idea. Probably.” She pauses, narrows her eyes at him. “Seriously, Ward? That’s all you have to say?” Skye has an expression on her face that looks a little like disappointment. It can’t be that though, because this is what they do. She flirts. He doesn’t respond in the same vein. This is the way it goes and she expects it. Things absolutely cannot change. He’s so close to getting the answers Garrett needs and then, _maybe then_ , things can be different.

 

“I’ve set up the bike for you. Ten minutes.” Ward leaves out the part where he’s sure that she’ll only manage that long because she’s so stubborn that she’d rather die than tell him that she needs to stop. He ignores her huff of exasperation as she drags her feet the whole way across the floor before settling to her task with a single-mindedness so familiar that he feels a twist of guilt in his gut at what he’s doing here. Ward turns his attention to the punching bag and attacks it with everything he’s got, a fierce outpouring of anger and frustration into unprotesting leather.

 

“I’m warmed up. My turn.” Skye’s voice breaks his concentration and he hits awkwardly, the bag swinging wide and hitting Skye squarely in the stomach. The look of surprise on her face would be almost comical if it weren’t for the fact that it only just covered the way that she flinched as the bag struck.

 

“Shit, sorry. Are you okay? We should stop.” He’s pulling her top up before he even realizes that he’s moving, his fingers lightly pushing at Skye’s wounds, checking for new injuries. It’s not until she giggles that he realizes that he’s completely overreacting.

 

“Nice to know you care. Or are you just trying to cop a feel? That’s not nice, Agent Ward, taking advantage of your own mistakes in order to make a move on some poor, unsuspecting girl.” Skye’s tone is teasing, but she’s hitting rather closer to the mark than Ward would like. He’s been so careful not to stand too close, not to touch her as much as he wants. And here she is, acting as though she expects Grant Ward, Agent of SHIELD to just make a move. The _real_ Grant Ward -- the one valued by SHIELD, who diffuses bombs and neutralizes threats, and is still bitter about the fact that he came second to Romanoff on every damn assessment -- is pretty keen to show Skye just how risky this new attitude of hers is, but he’s clinging to his cover story by his fingertips, and he knows that she could make everything come crashing down around him. Just one sharp tug on the right thread, and he’ll unravel, spilling all his secrets as he does. And that’s unacceptable. 

 

He hears Garrett’s voice in his head all the time now. 

 

_It’s a weakness, Grant._

_The girl’s a weakness._

 

Sometimes he wonders if Garrett was the one who ordered Skye shot. But he wouldn’t do that. He’s not evil enough to kill an innocent girl. He’s just desperate for a cure. The cure is the mission. Everything else is secondary. 

 

“Earth to Ward. Are you okay?” Skye’s voice interrupts his train of thought and he realizes that he’s still touching her skin, hands resting lightly on her hips. It’s something that they’ve done a million times before, as he positions her feet or shows her how to shift her weight efficiently. He’s not an idiot though. Something has changed since Skye got shot. This is nothing like those other times. The undercurrent of desire he’s usually so good at ignoring is sparking between them, and everything is disturbingly different.

 

“Yeah, Skye, I’m fine. I’m not the one that got shot, remember.” He should move his hands. 

 

“This time.” Skye, very deliberately, pokes him in the shoulder, her finger somehow landing on the scar there with unerring precision. It occurs to him that she may have catalogued his wounds almost as thoroughly as he’s kept an eye on hers. His brain skitters away from the edge of that thought and he finally drops his hands to his sides just as Skye says, “Honestly, I haven’t even broken a sweat. It’s upsetting that I’ve still got all my clothes on.”

 

Ward has no idea what to do with that statement. One version of him should give her a disapproving look and remind her about boundaries and appropriate behavior towards your supervising officer. A much more honest version of him wants to see just how sweaty and naked he can get her. He needs to get the fuck off this Bus. Soon.

 

“C’mon Ward, will you just spar with me? It’s not as though you’re going to actually hurt me, you’re too good for that. Please?” Skye drags the word out to three times its normal length and pulls a facial expression to match her tone. “I’m going nuts not doing any training. And you have no idea how much it hurts me to admit that. Way more than a couple of bullets to the stomach, in case you were wondering.”

 

“I wasn’t. And I’m not sparring with you, Skye.” Ward doesn’t actually know what happens next, but somehow he finds himself on his back on the mats, gazing up at Skye’s face. Her expression is priceless, a mixture of shocked and incredulous that her move worked, and he’d laugh if he wasn’t playing the part of her irate SO. He’s actually impressed -- it’s been a while since someone got the jump on him like that. He could easily sweep her legs out from under her, have her on the floor beneath him in a heartbeat. He doesn’t allow himself the satisfaction.

 

“You know, Ward, you’re right. I probably need to find someone who can still beat me in a fight. You should have punched me in the stomach whilst you had the chance.” With that, Skye turns on her heel and walks up the stairs. Ward climbs to his feet and counts slowly to ten before following.

 

Ward can hear movement coming from Skye’s pod and he hesitates for a moment before knocking on the door. He’s aware of the dramatic shift in the dynamic between them and, honestly, he’s a little worried that he’s underprepared for this. He should really go and read a book or, better yet, spend another twenty minutes working out his feelings on a punching bag. But Skye needs to know that she can’t behave like this. The Ward she knows wouldn’t let it pass without comment. He’d come up with something sensible about it not being the right time, or that he’s worried he wouldn’t protect the rest of the team because his focus would be on Skye. Ward’s pretty fucking sick of _Agent Grant Ward_. The guy is so straight that it’s getting almost painful to be him. 

 

“You can only come in if you’ve decided to remove the stick from your ass,” is Skye’s response to his knock at the door. He grins before composing his features into something more disapproving and pulling the door open. The sight that greets him leaves him dumbstruck. All versions of him.

 

Skye has apparently decided that this is a clothing optional kind of discussion. She’s clad in nothing but black lace, the fabric between her thighs so sheer that he can see a strip of fine curls straight through it, matching bra just visible beneath one of her stupid plaid shirts which she hasn’t even bothered to button up -- Ward has to admit that he’s revising his opinion on the shirts pretty rapidly -- and, in a move that has virtually robbed him of the ability to draw breath, she’s handcuffed herself to her own bed. It’s an image ripped straight from his fantasies, only this time she’s flesh and blood and he can’t just wake up and pretend it didn’t happen.

 

“What are you doing?” Ward’s very proud of the fact that his voice barely shakes on the last word. He’s trying very hard to only look at Skye’s face, because that’s what a responsible SO would do. His body, on the other hand, is trying just as hard to convince him that now is not the time to be concerned about blowing his cover.

 

“Well, I thought that since you’ve apparently decided that I’m some sort of damsel in distress who needs you to _save_ her, I’d take the trouble of fully embracing the role. Of course, I would struggle against my bonds but, you know, I’d probably hurt myself.” Skye’s voice is completely steady and he’s forced to admit that he’s impressed. And incredibly turned on. Which is a somewhat more unfortunate reaction.

 

“Skye…” He tries to load the word with disapproval or annoyance or any kind of emotion that would demonstrate his irritation with her behavior. But her name comes out around gritted teeth as a low growl, and it’s the opposite of what he’d intended. A cocky smile slowly spreads across Skye’s face as she deliberately rolls her shoulders, a move that pulls his full attention to her breasts. Which he spends more time thinking about than he should. This time though, she’s practically giving him an invitation to stare. He doesn’t bother trying to stop himself.

 

“All I’m saying, Ward, is that I’m really not as injured as you think I am. I could prove it to you.” He doesn’t think that it’s his imagination that inserts the smallest tremor of anxiety into her voice. This is a pretty extreme move, even for Skye, and he really needs to focus on the mission. Not on how badly he wants to take her up on her offer. This situation is not yet irretrievable.

 

“You’ve made your point. You don’t need to prove anything.” He drags his eyes to her face as he says the words. It’s a last, desperate attempt to salvage the situation. Ward’s only here to gather information and he can’t let things get personal. But his feet are seemingly glued to the floor and he can’t stop staring at her. He’s going to say no to. He’s going to turn around and walk away. He is.

 

“Well, you know, your choice and all, but I’ll just be here…”

 

“Skye, stop. This isn’t…” Ward can’t work out how to finish his sentence. Right? Necessary? Something I can take back later? He tries again. “I’m not the person you think I am.” It’s not nearly enough, but he can’t bring himself to tell her everything yet. He’s not ready to wake up from this dream.

 

“Well, the person I think you are would turn around and leave me here to sort myself out. So,” Skye pauses, the challenge clear on her face. “Are you going to prove me wrong?” 

 

“Yes.” The answer’s out of his mouth before he even has time to think about it. He’s not actually a good man. She deserves to know that truth at least.

 

Ward crosses the distance between them in a heartbeat, one hand settling on her ankle. He hears her breath catch as he touches her, and the world outside Skye’s room ceases to exist for him. Her skin is warm under his fingers, soft under the calluses on his palms, exactly the way it is in his imagination. Her toenails are painted a dark metallic silver -- he remembers her calling it gunmetal grey -- and it’s almost like a warning from the universe that this can only end one way, bullets and bloodshed. He looks up at Skye, her eyes fixed on his, daring him to stop. Ward grins, and he can feel it written on his face, the way that he wants to possess her, keep her for himself. Skye’s answering smile is triumphant, laced with challenge, wolfish. Maybe they’re not so different after all.

 

He kneels on the edge of the bed, just out of reach of Skye’s feet, and stares. His gaze travels every inch of her body, memorizing every detail just in case this is the only time. There’s a freckle on her right hipbone and another just above the swell of her left breast. His eyes linger and he can see the beginnings of a blush traveling down her chest. It’s not until she starts squirming against her handcuffs, trying to reach him with her toes, that he relents. Ward skates his hands up Skye’s legs, across her hips and waist, pushing her shirt further apart as his thumbs drift over her breasts. She arches up against his hands as he pauses, teasing her nipples through the almost sheer material of her bra, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to rip it off. He can feel his dick, now half-hard against the confines of his pants, twitch at the groan Skye makes as he replaces one hand with his mouth. 

 

 

Ward takes his time, running his tongue slowly across the point where black lace meets tender flesh, taking note of every hitch in Skye’s breathing. He’s braced on hands and knees, his mouth the only part of his body that he’s allowing to touch her. Skye has other ideas though, one leg snaking behind his ass and pulling him down towards her. He manages to resist the first time, just gently replaces his tongue with teeth and bites softly on her nipple, relishing the gasp she makes, before pushing himself up to really look at her.

 

Skye’s hair is fanned out across the bed, strands of it stuck to her cheeks and forehead, where a trace of sweat is evident. She’s breathing fast, eyelids half-closed over pupils that are blown to midnight black. She looks up at him, catches her bottom lip between her teeth, and moves her arms just enough to draw his attention to the fact that she’s still very much cuffed to the bed. It’s a scene straight from his wildest dreams and he has no idea how he’s managed to get this lucky. He knows he’s going to burn for this, but it’s going to be worth it. He’s going to make sure of that.

 

“You brought this on yourself you know.” Skye’s voice is confident. She’s not wrong. All of this is his fault. He’s had a million chances to make a different play and he’s taken none of them. Given the choice though, he’d live it all over again if he gets to end up here every time.

 

“I believe that this actually started as a conversation about you not being ready to spar with me. _You’re_ the one trying to prove _me_ wrong.” Ward stops resisting, allows Skye to pull his hips down to hers with the leg still hooked behind him. He can’t help the noise that rips through him as she grinds up against his erection. Despite the layers of fabric between them, the friction makes his dick throb. He feels more than hears the huff of laughter his response elicits from Skye. 

 

“I feel as though you’re not going to believe that I’m ready for training until I prove it to you. So this is as helpless as I get. Give it your best shot… Grant.” He’s not sure if it’s calculated on her part, or just the way she rolls her hips underneath him as she says his name, but it’s all his fantasies come to life and he can’t keep pretending that this isn’t something he desperately wants any more.

 

“This is a fucking terrible idea.” It’s the most honest thing he’s ever said to her and she does nothing but smile. 

 

He allows himself to drop down, flush against her, relishing the way her body seems to mold to his. He slides his arms along hers, feeling the cold bite of metal as his hands skate across the cuffs at her wrists, and twines their fingers together. The move brings his face level with hers and Skye lifts her head from the bed, chasing his mouth with her own. He pulls his head back at the last moment, allowing just the slightest brush of her lips against his. Skye makes a small sound of disappointment, and he can feel her pulling against her restraints. 

 

“Shouldn’t I at least buy you a drink?” Ward feels as though he can probably afford to skip the niceties, but it always pays to be polite. “Wait, weren’t _you_ going to buy _me_ a drink?” He loves the way her eyes flash in response to his teasing. He tries hard not to think about how he’d do anything to keep her here in this moment forever, his body covering hers like a shield against the world. He’s completely screwed.

 

“Sure. Undo the cuffs and we’ll call it a day. Just find a nice rowdy bar instead. Sounds like a much better way to occupy ourselves.” Skye’s breath is warm on his cheek, and she shifts slightly underneath him, somehow managing to press her body away from him and down into the mattress. 

 

“Raincheck.” With that, Ward finally allows himself to do what he’s been imagining for weeks, pushing his body back against her and pressing his mouth firmly against hers. Skye’s lips are soft, and they part without hesitation, tongue sliding against his. He slides one hand down to tangle in her hair, the other pushing her bra up out of the way, twisting a nipple between his fingers. Skye moans into his mouth, this breathy gasp that makes him want to bury himself inside her at the earliest opportunity, just to see how loud she can get. He feels almost drunk, a dizzying high making his blood fizz in his veins, and it’s completely addictive. Skye’s like a drug he never wants to stop taking. She sucks his bottom lip into her mouth and bites down hard enough that he thinks she’s probably drawn blood. He growls her name as pleasure edges out the pain, and he should have known that this was another thing about him she’d always have figured out.

 

“So that’s how it is, huh? Should’ve known there was a reason you’re always getting hurt.” Skye’s voice is husky, liquid velvet spilling across his skin. “You should probably be the one tied up. Just think of all the things I could do to you.” She gives him a suggestive smile, and Ward thinks that it’s probably wiser not to tell her about the multitude of things he imagines her doing to him.

 

“Well, you didn’t really give that as an option, did you?” Ward slides his hands back down along Skye’s body, inching himself slowly downwards. He runs his tongue across her collarbone, sucks down onto her neck hard enough to bruise. Skye arches against him as he does it, hips grinding against him, seeking out some sort of purchase, and he pushes her back to the bed. He kisses his way down across her sternum, nips gently at a breast, just to hear her moan, before continuing down her body. He traces her scars with his mouth, each kiss a silent promise that he’ll do better, before he sits back on his heels, reluctantly pushing himself off her.

 

“Did I say you could stop?” Skye sounds as unimpressed as he’s ever heard her. “ _God_.” 

 

“That’s okay, Skye. You can call me Grant.” From the look of surprise on her face, Ward’s pretty sure that his undercover persona has left the building. He couldn’t care less. “And I’m not stopping. I’m assessing.”

 

“You’re an ass.” There’s no bite behind the words though. She’s staring at him as though she’s trying to work out his next move.

 

“No, Skye, I’m a Specialist. I’m just deciding how to win.” He doesn’t tell her that he just needs a moment to pull himself together. He’s imagined this so many times that he’s afraid of moving too fast. He’s so hard now that it’s almost painful and he can feel Skye shifting her leg, running her toes up his inner thigh, her intentions clearly written in the smirk on her face. He catches her foot in his hand, shaking his head as he does. He has more important things to focus on. 

 

He bends his head and kisses her instep, tightening his grip as she giggles and tries to pull her foot away. The laughter breaks off in a choked gasp as he kisses up the inside of her thigh, dragging his teeth across sensitive skin. Skye’s breathing hard and he can hear the scrape of metal on metal as she shifts her arms. He pauses for a moment, just inhaling the smell of her, listening to the way her breath hitches as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. He can’t resist sliding his tongue across the damp lace, his first taste of her masked by the fabric, and he wants more. He wants to show her all the things that he can’t possibly say, leave permanent marks on her to show that she’s his. Skye moans his name and it’s like fire in his veins, setting him alight. She lifts her hips at his urging, allowing him to pull her underwear off in one smooth motion, before he settles himself back between her legs. 

 

“Skye, look at me.” He needs her to be a willing participant in this. Needs to know that he’s not the only one who’ll never be able to come back from what they’re about to do. Skye slowly opens her eyes, a soft smile spreading across her face as she looks down at him. Ward thinks that it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, Skye spread out half-naked before him, chest heaving with every indrawn breath.

 

“You waiting for an invitation? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I already covered that.” Skye can’t disguise the eagerness in her voice and, impossibly, it somehow makes him want her more. 

 

Ward drifts his hands up the smooth expanse of her legs, leaning forward to plant a kiss at the crease of her thigh, before hooking her knees over his shoulders. He wonders if she even knows how stunning she is, slick pink folds spread out before him. He dips his head, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal, and finally tastes her, salt-sweet on his tongue. She’s wet and eager, grinding her hips up into his face, and a surge of triumph shoots straight to his cock. He has to make a conscious effort not to seek out the friction he desperately wants, determined to make himself wait. Some bizarre penance that he hopes might somehow show her the truth that his words never could.

 

He dips his tongue inside her, adds two fingers, curling them up and forwards as his mouth moves up, sucking gently on her clit. The effect on Skye is electric, her spine arching as she keens his name, thighs squeezing tighter around him as he fights to maintain his own control. Time ceases to have any meaning for him. The only thing he can focus on is Skye and the way she writhes underneath him, a soft jumble of words spilling from her lips. He can hear her saying it over and over, _Grant, Grant, Grant_ , like some messed-up prayer, and he never wants her to stop.

 

Skye gasps every time he does something she really likes -- his mouth pushing firmly against her clit, fingers deftly moving inside her -- and he catalogs every sound she makes, files them away for later, half-swallowed sighs and breathy moans getting louder as he pushes her closer to the edge. He’s got one arm wrapped around her hips, pinning them to the bed, and he can feel her straining underneath him, muscles clenching rhythmically with every flick of his tongue.

 

“Fuck, yes. Like that.” Skye chokes out, and Ward smirks against her skin. His face is wet with her, fingers slipping easily against slick flesh, and he pushes harder. Faster.

 

He pays close attention to every one of Skye’s responses in case it’s the only time he gets to feel the way her legs grip him, heels digging into his back. How she pulls him more firmly against her, thighs tightening around his head as he scrapes his teeth across her clit. The way she fights his hold on her hips, trying to fuck his mouth as he eats her out. Every sound and every movement makes his blood pound through his dick, and it’s making him increasingly desperate. He wants to make her fall apart underneath his mouth, feel her tumble over the edge, screaming his name. He’s being selfish, he knows that, but it makes him more focused. He can tell how close Skye is, no longer talking, just letting out tiny moans of pleasure as he moves. He twists his hand, flattening his tongue firmly against her tender flesh, and she comes, muscles fluttering against his fingers, with an almost silent groan. He tries not to care that she doesn’t say his name.

 

He lifts his head and waits, memorizing every inch of how Skye looks at this moment, skin flushed, utterly disheveled and wanton. He doesn’t want to rush, but every nerve in his body is tingling, desperate to touch her again. Finally she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his. Every hint of the earlier challenge on her face has disappeared, replaced with a lazy smile. He wants to see how many times he can put that look on her face before everything falls apart. He knows that it will. Now that he’s tasted her he can never undo it and the only way this ends is badly.

 

“Hey.” She sounds almost shy now, no hint of the earlier bravado that got them here.

 

“Hi.” His voice sounds strange, more gentle than he’s used to. Everything about this is completely unexpected.

 

“You convinced I’m ready to train yet, or do you need more proof?” And there it is, the teasing tone in her voice that gets him hot every time. Skye fights dirty, the scrape of her knee against his groin making him jerk forward against her, the sudden pressure stealing his breath and making his eyes drift shut. “Oh yeah. I’m _so_ winning this one.” Skye chuckles as she says it.

 

Ward would point out that his face is still wet from her, the scent of her overwhelming his senses every time he breathes, but it’s taking most of his willpower not to dry hump her leg. He’ll let her think she’s calling the shots every time if she’ll just let him do this with her forever.

 

“I feel as though I’m at a slight disadvantage here though.” Skye catches her lower lip between her teeth in a gesture that Ward has come to associate with some of her more calculated moments. His body’s moving before he has a chance to properly think about it, mouth hitting hers with a bruising intensity. His chin is still slick from her and he knows she can taste herself as they kiss, but she chases his tongue with her own, and he’s falling fast. “Too many clothes.” Skye manages to gasp it out between breaths. Ward couldn’t agree more.

 

“What’re you going to do about it?” His words slur together, desire thick on his tongue. Their faces are inches apart, breathing each other’s air, close enough that he can’t miss the cocky edge to her grin. He hears a distinctive _click_ moments before Skye’s hand snakes up his neck, twisting in the hair at the back of his head.

 

“Surprise.” Skye whispers it as she pulls him back down to her, teeth nipping along his jaw before licking across the pulse hammering at his throat.

 

“Impressive.” The end of the word disappears in a hiss as Skye sucks down hard. She eases up almost immediately but he’s sure that it’s going to leave a mark. He doesn’t know how he’ll explain it. He doesn’t much care.

 

“Wow. More compliments, huh? If only I’d known that getting shot was all it took I’d have tried it ages ago. Taken a leaf out of your book.” She’s teasing, but it hits Ward like a punch to the gut. She’s getting so close to the truth and she doesn’t even know. He’s selfish though. He wants this so badly that the idea of stopping is unthinkable.

 

“I’m bad for you.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s true nonetheless. And it’s all the honesty he can afford to give her. He hopes that he can just show her the rest and that, one day, she’ll understand.

 

“Shut up, I _like_ this version of you. I don’t know where you’ve been hiding him, but he can totally stay. He’s…” Skye pauses, both hands sliding under his jaw, pushing his face slightly away from hers, and examining him with a thoughtful expression, before continuing. “…unexpected.” She gives him a tiny smile, but the warmth of it is beautiful, unfurling like liquid gold through his veins.

 

“Speaking of unexpected, what happened to the cuffs?” He’s genuinely intrigued, and a little disappointed. He’d felt them with his own hands and they were solid, tough to escape without causing some damage.

 

“Misspent youth,” she shrugs. “You don’t know all my secrets.” With that Skye slides her hands down his sides, feather-light fingers skipping across his ribs, before gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling insistently.

 

Ward’s desperate for the feel of skin on skin and he lifts his arms, allows her to pull his shirt off his shoulders. She drifts her hands down his back, the light scrape of her nails raising goose bumps across his body, before he feels her fingers at his waist. He kisses her then, sloppy and open mouthed, hungry to taste her again. In his dreams, having Skye bound and eager underneath him was the best thing to happen to him, but the reality of her arms sliding across his shoulders, pulling him closer, is immeasurably better. He can feel it in his core, a white hot shard of _want_ that ignites to a blaze as she touches him.

 

Skye unbuttons his pants, uses her hands and feet to push them down his legs until they pool at his ankles. She lets out a small huff of disappointment as he lifts himself off her to finish the job and he can’t help himself, drops back down and presses a soft kiss to her temple. He barely recognizes himself, and he wonders if this is what it would be like to be his own man, responsible for nothing more that his own desires. It feels like an unattainable dream, but Skye smiles, warm and pliant beneath him, and it seems as though anything could be possible.

 

She grips his shoulders as he sits up, fingers digging into skin as she allows him to pull her along with him. He hopes that it bruises. That she’ll be able to see herself branded onto him, proof that she belongs there, that he’ll carry her with him no matter what happens next.

 

He has to stand to kick his boots off and step out of his pants. He looks up to find that Skye has slipped her shirt off, thrown it to the floor along with her bra. She’s stripped naked before him and he has no idea how the hell he got this lucky. He drags a breath past the sudden weight in his chest, fear and regret and the knowledge that he’s not the man she thinks he is, and takes a step towards her. Skye stops him with a foot placed strategically on his upper thigh.

 

“Still too many clothes.” Skye gestures at his underwear with her chin. “It’s not as though they’re leaving much to the imagination anyway.” The suggestive grin that spreads across her face is one of the filthiest things he’s ever seen. His hand moves almost of its own volition, sliding under the waistband of his boxer briefs. Somehow he restrains himself, allowing only a single twist of his hand along his dick, despite the wave of pleasure that courses through him at the sensation. Skye’s eyes follow the motion of his hand and she scoots to the edge of the bed, before reaching out, grabbing his forearm, and pulling him closer.

 

“You want them gone, you know what to do.” He breaks off with a gasp as Skye leans forwards and presses her mouth to his stomach. He feels the slightest scratch of her fingernails at his hips as she slides her hands down, his cock springing up as she drops his underwear to the floor. 

 

“Much better.” Skye looks up at him and her mouth is only inches away from bare flesh. He tries not to imagine how it would feel -- her mouth wrapped around him, cheeks hollowed as she sucks along his length, releasing him with a _pop_ before swallowing him back in -- but from the look on her face he can see that she can tell exactly what he’s thinking. “Skye,” it comes out as more of a whisper than he’d intended as he reaches for her chin and bends down to kiss her. She’s always had an uncanny way of reading him, and her hands cup his face, palms tender on his cheeks as she kisses him softly, more careful than before. He feels as though he could break under her touch nonetheless.

 

Ward pushes her slowly backwards, his touch gentle, until she’s lying propped on her elbows, knees still hooked over the side of the mattress. She watches him, face intent and just the barest hint of a smile, as he leans across her to pull open the bedside cabinet. The condoms are right where he expected to find them -- Skye’s too smart for anything else -- but it’s a relief nonetheless. Skye’s expression turns to a full-blown smirk as he rips a packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on.

 

He takes a small step, positions himself between her thighs, watches as she lifts a leg and plants her heel on the mattress, giving her the purchase she needs to push herself further up the bed. He follows her as she moves, knuckles turning white as he clenches his fists in the sheets and tries his best to resist the urge to sink into her as she pushes her cunt up against him. He can telll how wet she still is, deliberately canting her hips up as she moves, pussy sliding along the underside of his cock. Heat builds at the base of his spine, heavy and warm. She watches him, gaze intent, as he tries his best to steady his breathing. He’s failing miserably, white noise buzzing in his skull and heart hammering against his ribs as he forces his hands to relax. It’s almost embarrassing, the way that he loses all control around her, but the sensation is becoming worryingly familiar. 

 

He can’t wait any longer, crawls the length of Skye’s body, pressing light kisses as he goes -- across the smooth skin of her leg, the crease of her thigh, running his tongue across her scars, onto the soft swell of a breast -- until his body covers hers again, arms bracketing her shoulders, stomach pressed to hers. He wishes the safety of his arms was more than just an illusion. He drifts a hand across her collarbone, tracing the outline of his mouth there, still evident on her skin, and she gasps as his thumb brushes across a nipple. He dips his head, slowly licks along the curve of her breast, fingers sliding downwards and Skye arches against him as his teeth bite gently down. She’s still slick between her thighs, gasps his name as he moves his hand and pushes up into her. He can feel her fingers clench on his hips hard enough to leave a mark. Indelible proof, as if it were needed, that he belongs to her.

 

“Fuck, Grant, _please_ …” Skye crushes her mouth to his, one thigh hitching up and wrapping against his hip, pulling him closer, until she eliminates the space between them. She reaches down and spirals a hand around his cock, her thumb brushing across the tip and it takes every ounce of his willpower keep breathing. He slips one hand under her ass, the other hooking under her thigh, pushing her open beneath him. She shifts her legs wider, both of them breathing hard, exchanging messy kisses between gasps. Skye snakes an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer, before finally using a hand to guide his cock inside her, wet and welcoming.

 

A barrage of sensations that he can’t even put a name to threatens to overwhelm him, and he swallows hard around a shuddering exhale as he buries himself as deep as he can. Ward drops his head to her shoulder as he murmurs her name, a caress of sound like a whispered prayer. He pauses, wants to memorize every sensation sparking through his body, but then Skye’s clutching at his ass, encourgaing him with a stream of syllables and vowels in his ears, words like _harder_ and _faster_ and _now_ and he finally starts to move, thrusting up into her deeper with every stroke. He tries to take it slow, to make it last as long as he can, but she’s so slick around him, hot and strong, and he knows that she’ll drive him over the edge long before he wants to go. 

 

“My turn.” Skye’s voice is surprsingly determined. Ward’s impressed that she can even talk, having long since lost the ability to string words together into any sort of coherence. She rolls them over, one smooth motion that somehow doesn’t end up with either of them on the floor, but he can’t help groaning in dissatisfaction as he slides out of her. It’s totally worth it for the way she throws her head back and laughs. 

 

A vice cleanches around his heart as he looks up at her. He couldn’t have lived with himself if she’d died. He feels as though it’s safe to admit that now, with her naked and vibrant above him, every part of her sparking with life. He’s not usually one to lie back and let this happen -- hates the sense of vulnerability that always has part of his brain seeking out the nearest likely weapon as he pretends to lose control -- but with Skye he’d stay here forever, let her take what she wants from him over and over again. He shifts his hands, grips her hips and pulls her down against him, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. 

 

“Agent Ward, I do believe that you’re losing your cool. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that patience is a virtue?” Her tone is arch, but he can hear laughter there, mixed with desire.

 

“Patience is fucking overrated, Skye. I want you.” Just like that it’s out there. The truth that he swore to himself he wouldn’t tell her. No taking it back now though. 

 

“You’ve got me.” She shrugs her shoulders, as though it’s the most simple thing in the world, as though there’s nothing less complicated than the two of them stripped bare in the confines of her room. He offers up a silent plea to whoever might be listening that she’s right. He watches, musles straining with the effort of keeping still, as she slips her hand around him -- two smooth slides from base to tip that steal his breath and have him seeing stars -- and positions his cock, now achingly hard, so that she can lower herself slowly onto him. 

 

His hands are firm on her hips, and she leans forwards, resting her hands on his shoulders. Skye pays attention, her eyes fixed on his face as she moves, working out what he likes, what makes him moan into her mouth, gasp her name and dig his fingers more firmly into her skin. She's stunning, perfect as she rides him, and he tells her everything he feels, breathing the most honest things he can think of against her skin. She slams her mouth onto his, hard, fast and messy and he can’t help it, bucks his hips up against her as fire coils in his belly.

 

“Look at me, Grant.” She whispers it against his ear, and a shiver goes through him at the command. She’s leaning over him, light sheen of sweat making her gleam in the soft light. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

 

Ward can’t help himself, thrusts up into her hard, grinding his hipbone up into hers as he bottoms out. The noise that Skye makes echoes in the room, vibrates along every nerve in his body, and takes up residence in his bones. She gasps his name as he clutches her hips, lifting so that she’s almost all the way off him before firmly pulling her down against him again and again. The smell of sweat and sex lies heavy in the air between them and he clenches his jaw, determined to last as long as possible. He’s not ready to let her go, not ready to lose the way she moves around him, pussy clenching tight every time he slides out of her. He doesn’t want to live the rest of his life without the way that she keens his name as she scrapes her nails down his torso, pain he’d gladly endure forever.

 

Suddenly she’s tightening around him, doesn’t say a word, but her eyes flash open and it’s all he can do not to break at the honesty he sees there. But then his hips are jerking, heat pooling at the base of his spine before screaming through every fibre of his being, and he falls apart anyway. Her arms are the only things that keep his pieces together, holding him tight, fingers running through the damp hair at the nape of his neck. He swallows, trying to breathe around the tightness in his throat, closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers. They lie there for a moment, nothing but the two of them struggling to calm their breathing, and the erratic hammering of his own heartbeat in his ears. He finally musters the courage to look up, finds her grinning at him, lips swollen, as she lets out a languid laugh. He tries to pretend that this won’t change things between them. That it hasn’t already.

 

“Pretty sure I won that round,” she winks at him. “Let me know when you’re ready for a rematch.”

 

He smiles at her, tries to let the truth of his feelings show as he drifts a hand up her body to tangle in her hair. He slides his other hand slowly across her shoulders. “Skye, I need to tell you something.” It’s as good a time as any, he supposes, to lay himself open for her to pick through the wreckage.

 

“Oh yeah?” She slides up his body, pressing light kisses to his neck, before staring him straight in the eye. “Do your worst.”

 

“I want you to know that this is real.” It’s all the honesty that he can give her, the knowledge that she’s lightning in his veins and laughter in his soul, that she’s everything he’s ever wanted, and he prays she can hear the truth in the space between them. He’s not yet foolish enough to tell her the rest. Skye presses up against him, her mouth warm on his cheek, and she laughs, as though it’s the most unnecessary thing he’s ever said. He can feel the earth shifting beneath them, knows that he’s on dangerous ground and one wrong move will end everything before it really has a chance to begin. Ward would like to believe that he could live with that, but it’s just one more lie he’d be telling himself.

 

“Yeah, Agent Obvious, I kind of worked that one out on my own.” Skye scratches a fingernail idly down his side, grinning when his breath catches as she hits a particularly ticklish spot. “I know all your weaknesses now.”

 

“Not all of them.” The only secrets that he’s keeping now are the ones that would make her walk away from him. They’re the only ones that matter. His heart twists as she smiles at him like it’s a challenge. Like finding out his darkest truths could be something exciting, would somehow make them closer -- Skye and Ward against the world. He can’t tell her that his secrets are the things that will rip them apart. “But I’ll keep you safe, Skye. I need you to know that. No matter what.” He hates the way that his voice fades to nothing as he speaks. As though part of him already knows that this is a promise that he might not be able to keep. He slides a hand through her hair, pulls her smiling mouth to his, as though his breath mingling with hers might tell her all the things that he can’t bring himself to say. Instead of words, gone in a heartbeat, he writes his promises on her skin, with gentle fingers and a soft tongue, and he hopes that he can carve them a future out of the chaos that’s ahead.


End file.
